


thank god you are home

by archers_and_spies



Category: Marvel
Genre: 5+1 Things, Clint Barton Made a Different Call, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Natasha Romanov Joins SHIELD, Weddings, a sprinkle of phillinda, long overdue fluff, this just gets happier and happier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24839431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archers_and_spies/pseuds/archers_and_spies
Summary: Five times Phil Coulson tried to dismiss the obvious, and one time he accepted itand Clint and Natasha can finally be together without guilt because they've been waiting for his approval.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 20
Kudos: 87





	thank god you are home

**Author's Note:**

> so remember when I said finals are coming up and I wouldn't be posting as much? well, guess who wrote a 3k fic to procrastinate instead of studying!!! fun times  
> for the millionth time, I do not own the characters, and the title is a lyric from les mis? I'm pretty sure??

-1-

It’s two weeks past Natalia’s initial recruitment when Coulson finally sees her during a short break between all the psych eval sessions she’s been in (it’s ridiculous really, what the poor girl really needs is therapy and not increasingly more people poking and prodding into her life which, according to Barton, she doesn’t even completely remember).

She keeps her head down while passing him from behind, Coulson himself consciously aware of every agent on the same floor’s fixed gaze on her. He thinks he hears their whispers; how she once killed a man with an ordinary pen after sleeping with him, how she was programmed not to feel and is therefore essentially a robot, and _does she have to keep that zipper pulled down all the way? It’s pretty unprofessional._

“Natalia,” he calls before she can get too far away from him, and he senses all the whispers stop dead. Natalia turns slowly, reluctantly meeting his eyes.

“Sir?” She says quietly.

“How are you adjusting to life at SHIELD?” The attention on them is like a spotlight, and it makes his skin bristle even though he’s had to go through much harder stuff in life than being stared at by people. Still, he marvels at Natalia’s ability to tolerate this for two whole weeks.

“Fine, Sir,” she says and leaves it at that. He watches as she turns away and keeps walking, not knowing whether to be offended, embarrassed, or both. He feels the stares lift off of him and shift back onto Natalia.

A familiar figure shoulders through the crowd that’s gathered and makes his way to Natalia. And—that can’t be right, because when she sees Barton, she _visibly_ relaxes. Breathes out a sigh of relief and all that—she’s not even trying particularly hard to hide it. And it’s nice, Coulson supposes, that she at least has someone who makes her feel at ease in this new environment. But why Barton?

(The truth is, Coulson doesn’t know what happened on that day. The last thing Barton had said to him before stamping on and ruining his comms—which doubled as his hearing aids, by the way, so he’ll never understand that—was that he’d had the Widow, who was armed, in his sights. They’d lost contact for a whole five hours and twelve minutes, and just before he could report back to SHIELD that he was missing in action, Barton knocked at the door of his motel room with a staggering, bleeding woman leaning on him, and simply shook his head when Coulson asked what had happened.)

They’re going in the same direction, so it’s not eavesdropping if he follows a few steps behind after they turn into a deserted hallway. He tries not to take it personally when Barton asks her how she’s adjusting, and she tells him the story of how she’d managed to throw five crumpled up paper balls into the trash can in the corner of her room consecutively when the psychologist hadn’t been looking. Barton makes a quip about how if he’s not careful, she might become good enough to replace him, and she replies, “I might,” with an eye roll and a playful punch to his arm.

Something compels him to stop in his tracks, and he watches them get into the elevator at the far end of the corridor, still bantering with each other. They’re getting along way better than they were when she’d first woken up after they’d fished the bullet out from her stomach and she spat profanities at Barton in Russian.

_Huh._

-2-

He’s waiting on the landing pad when they return from a month-long mission. She jumps out of the helicopter before it even lands, then reaches back into it to ~~help~~ drag Barton out. Once she finishes manoeuvring his arm around her shoulders and ensures that it’s steady, she rushes towards the stairs without a word to Coulson, a blur of red and black.

“Agent Romanoff,” he calls, trying to keep up with her fast pace, which should be physically impossible with Barton’s weight on her. “Natasha, wait!”

She goes two stairs one step and jumps from three onto each landing. He’s panting when they reach the floor of the hospital wing, and an automated voice tells Natasha to present her ID.

“I don’t have my stupid card on me!” She screams, and punches the door which doesn’t budge. She starts sobbing in earnest now, and Barton groans a bit, his blood dripping onto the floor.

“‘S okay, Nat,” he manages to mumble.

Feeling unintentionally intrusive, Coulson awkwardly reaches past them to swipe his card on the scanner. The door clicks as it unlocks, and Natasha nearly trips over her own feet when she runs inside.

***

“Don’t cry, Nat,” Barton says softly, squeezing Natasha’s hand. Coulson ducks his head standing in the corner of the hospital room, wishing his presence wasn’t mandatory.

“I’m not crying,” she sniffles, the two streaks of tears on her face clearing away the dirt from the mission proving otherwise.

Clint reaches up with his other arm, winces a bit, and attempts to wipe those tears away with his shaking hand. Natasha takes hold of it and lowers it back onto the bed. She’s holding both his hands now.

“This is my fault,” she says. “If I’d been more careful, if I hadn’t been just standing there—”

“Natasha,” he interrupts. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

She sighs. “That was just—it was so, so stupid. Don’t do it again. Promise me.”

“But you’re my partner. I’m supposed to keep you safe, Tash—”

“And look where that’s got you. Okay? You’ve got—you’ve got a bullet in your shoulder, and another in your leg.”

“I’ve lived through worse. You’ve seen me do worse, so why are you getting upset now?”

“Because those bullets were meant for _me_!” She says, and everything clicks into place. “You could’ve just let me get shot, but like an idiot, you jumped in front—” Her voice drops. “He fired three shots. What if instead of missing, the last one got you in the head, or the heart?”

“Natasha,” he whispers, horrified yet gentle. “You gotta have faith in me. I’m not dying on you anytime soon, okay? Promise.”

The second hand overlaps with the hour and minute hand over the 12 on the clock, and Coulson’s finally free to go. He closes the door gently, watching Natasha bring her and Clint’s intertwined hands to her lips and turn her wrist so she can kiss Clint’s hand gently.

Coulson reminds himself that he’s taken bullets for strangers before, and that doesn’t mean he’d been in love with any of them. Romanoff and Barton are probably just really, really good partners.

-3-

It’s not his fault—the coffee machine on this floor had broken down sometime during the night, and Coulson had to make an extra trip to two floors down. When he takes the elevator back up, Barton and Romanoff are already in the debrief room. He’s about to walk in when he hears Natasha say, “It’s not your fault, Clint.”

Coulson pauses and takes a step back so he’s hidden by the wall beside the door.

“No, Nat, c’mon, you know it,” Barton replies. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ruined this for us.”

Romanoff’s silent for a moment, and then she says, “This is hard for me too, Clint. Don’t… don’t blame yourself. You didn’t mean it.”

“Of course I didn’t mean it!” He yells. ”That alone doesn’t make it all better, it doesn’t take that bullet out of that innocent mother, doesn’t bring her back to life.”

There’s silence for five seconds, then he sighs. “Sorry. I shouldn’t—sorry for yelling at you.”

“Clint—” she starts.

Coulson realises it’s already fifteen minutes past when they were supposed to start, not to mention eavesdropping is immoral, and decides they can’t wait any longer. He walks in with his coffee and a half-assed apology for being late. Natasha and Clint look up from where they were leaning their foreheads together and both of them scoot their chairs apart a little. When Coulson looks again, though, they’re still gripping each other’s hand tightly under the table.

Natasha volunteers to relay him the mission details in private, and Clint looks to her in surprise and maybe with a bit of gratefulness. Coulson accepts.

-4-

The mission this time is tricky. They’re going undercover pretending to be, well, undercover. And they’ve gotta get the pacing right, because if the target figures out they’re SHIELD agents too soon or too late, the entire schedule will shift.

They’ve gotta make it look real, too, which is why Coulson’s helping Clint adjust his purple bow tie and jacket while Hill is, no doubt, fussing over Natasha and her dress a few rooms over.

“I would ask if this was really necessary, but you seem to be enjoying it,” Coulson quips.

“It’s like Director Fury said, Sir,” Clint says. “It’s part of our cover beneath our cover.”

“Yeah, but real names? Isn’t that a little dangerous? You two are getting married—for real.”

“Yeah, well, we gotta sell it,” Clint justifies.

“You sound like you _want_ to get married to Romanoff.”

Clint says nothing at that, just shrugs vaguely. Coulson watches dumbly as he walks out the room and looks out the window to see him getting ready at the end of the aisle in the backyard outside.

Remembering he himself plays a huge role in this wedding, Coulson knocks on the wooden door of the room Natasha’s in, and calls, “He’s gone. You can come out now.”

The door clicks open and Natasha steps out in a simple ankle-length white dress, its neckline high due to the chilly Dakota weather. Behind her is Maria adjusting Natasha’s hair gingerly, taking a few strands out from the braided bun to frame her face.

“Natasha. You look nice,” Coulson remarks.

Maria replies, “Well, we were aiming for drop-dead gorgeous, but yeah, _nice_ will do.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Natasha says, sounding a little breathless.

Coulson offers his arm, and Natasha takes it. She doesn’t let go until they’re all the way down the aisle, Clint beaming at her and her smiling back. She takes her place facing Clint, and Coulson retreats to Clint’s side, doubling as the best man.

There are only six people present: The minister hired by SHIELD, Clint, Natasha, Maria, himself, and Melinda. Apparently she’s friends with Natasha, and it makes sense. They probably have brunch together every Sunday and talk about the most efficient ways to kill people and make it look like an accident.

He catches her gaze, and she rolls her eyes and smiles.

***

He’s a bit surprised when it’s revealed that they wrote their own vows, but then again, of course they did. Barton and Romanoff never play by the rules. Clint clumsily takes a piece of wrinkled paper out of his pocket.

“Um,” he begins with a laugh. “So, here’s the thing about me. I’m an outcast. I have been alone my whole life. I had my family when I was young, but I always knew Barney wasn’t going to stick around for long, and my parents—well, you know.” He clears his throat. “Eventually, I got so used to it, I started making myself invisible on purpose. Found out I saw things better at a distance, especially if I’m up on a tree, watching my dad get home drunk. Or the roof of a building, holding a rifle. Not much of a difference.”

His face softens. “And then you came along, Natasha. You were… impossibly, incredibly alone. There’s no other word for it. You never had anyone, and I think that’s what drawn me to you. Even though we were so remarkably different in every other aspect, we had that in common.

“And I am so glad that I made the choice to spare you and be your friend. Because now, more than ever, I finally feel like I _belong_. You did that, Natasha. You and your immaculate collection of guns and knives, the way you bring me coffee in the morning just how I like it, your frustrating refusal to get yourself checked up at Medical every time you’re hurt. Over the years, I’ve watched you grow more and more comfortable to be the person you are, and…” He bursts into a shy grin. “I can’t wait to be married to you.”

Natasha’s eyes are shining as she looks up at Clint. He’s been fidgeting with the piece of paper it’s holding, and it ends up even more wrinkled than it started out. She takes a deep breath. “Okay. Alright. My turn.

“Remember when you first cornered me on that rooftop? I was—I was gonna jump, you know. Going out my own way and all that. But then you lowered your bow, and remember what you said? You said, _there’s a pizza place two blocks from here_. And you actually took me there. Paid for what I ordered. You did kind of shoot me afterwards, but I’m over it.” She laughs when Barton exclaims that _it was an accident_ , and then continues. “And it stuck with me, the way you did your best to hold a conversation. You treated me like a human, and not a murder machine. It’s just like you said. Everything clicked right then, and I knew so much was gonna change.

“To be frank, I never expected this to happen. But… Clint, you’re my best friend. Your kindness and selflessness continue to surprise me every day. So, thank you. You gave me a purpose, you gave me a home. Ты идиот, и я люблю тебя.”

Coulson doesn’t know Russian, but he catches the word _idiot_ and smiles. No one’s paying attention to the minister’s words, but once “husband and wife” leaves his mouth, Clint teases, “So, Mrs Barton.”

“I will kill you,” Natasha threatens with the most dazzling grin Coulson’s ever seen, and she lets Clint pull her in for a kiss.

They’re great actors, Coulson will give them that.

***

The mission goes smoothly, and when they’re back, the entirety of SHIELD pretends not to notice that they’re still wearing their rings, and that Natasha actually changes her name to Romanoff-Barton. Coulson just reckons they’re too bothered to undo the marriage—they’re partners, anyway, it’s like this was meant to be, and as far as he knows they’re not currently seeing anyone. He supposes the anti-fraternization rules don’t apply to marriages of convenience.

But then he catches the way they look at each other sometimes, and a part of his brain is scared to admit that _that_ cannot be acting.

-5-

Coulson finds himself getting used to the slow tick-tock of hospital clocks, thanks to the number of increasingly hard situations Delta land themselves into. He feels Clint, sitting next to him, getting more restless with each minute that passes.

When the doctor steps out of the surgery room, Clint’s on his feet immediately. “How is she?” He asks.

“Well—we’re still operating on her. I’d say it’s fifty-fifty; we’ll have to see,” the doctor responds.

“Can I see her?” He asks helplessly.

“Not now. I’m sorry, but it’s against protocol.”

Clint sighs. “Come on, man, just let me in. I—I need to see her. Please.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do, Sir—”

“I’m her husband!” He shouts, and a few heads turn their way. “Please. You don’t understand. I have to—”

“See her, I know,” the doctor says, clearly having gone through this situation a few times in the past. “And you will, in a few hours. For now, you’ll have to wait.” He disappears back into the room without another word, and locks the door before Clint can try anything.

Clint pounds his fist into the wall, and judging by that crack, he either broke the wall or something in his hand. He doesn’t seem to care, though, sinking back into his seat beside Coulson and burying his face in his palms.

“Natasha’s going to be fine, Barton,” Coulson tries to reassure him after a while.

“I don’t know.” He takes a shaking breath. “It’s just—she’s my _wife_ , Phil.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, and imagines if it were Melinda in that room. The mere thought makes him sick to the stomach.

When the morning comes, Natasha’s sitting upright in the bed, and when Coulson comes in to check on her, Clint’s in a chair right beside her.

“Hi,” he says to announce his presence, and Clint turns to face him, a relieved grin on his face that practically screams _look, my wife is alive._

“Hi, Sir,” Natasha says, her face evidently tired but her smile mirroring Clint’s. Coulson suspects it has something to do with Barton.

+1

The new recruits are bored out of their minds listening to him ramble on and on about mission protocols, and even the infamous Black Widow turns out not to be so frightening when she’s twirling a pen around her hair and switching her crossed legs every few minutes.

A knock comes at the door, and Coulson looks up. “Agent Barton.”

Natasha promptly whips her head around, and Clint says, “Hi. Sorry to—bother y’all, just—”

“Clint, what are you doing here?” Natasha asks as he makes his way to her chair. “Fury gave you the day off, and it’s eight in the morning. You wake up at noon on holidays.”

“I got you coffee,” he says, holding out a paper cup. “And not the crappy coffee from that SHIELD machine, too. Figured it’s my fault that you couldn’t get it yourself in your hurry. Sorry for keeping you in bed.”

Natasha blushes a bit and mumbles her thanks. The recruits around them are absolutely engrossed in whatever’s happening, exchanging glances with their new colleagues.

“Oh, and you left this at my place.” He drapes a jacket around her shoulders. “I didn’t want you to be cold.”

She laughs when he bends down to plant a kiss on her cheek. “I really am the luckiest, aren’t I?”

“Hey,” Coulson says before Clint leaves. “It looks good on you,” and he’s not talking about Natasha’s jacket.

They both smile at him. “Thank you, Sir,” Clint says.

**Author's Note:**

> this was the result of daydreaming during class and for some reason the idea that Coulson still can't bring himself to realise that these two are in love after they literally get married is so funny to me. so what if i cried writing the wedding vows? hmm? what about it? and happy father's day :))
> 
> [help the blm movement](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/) / [help the yemen crisis](https://yemencrisis.carrd.co/)


End file.
